


cambion

by treeprince



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bad Jokes, Biting, Breathplay, Happy Ending, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral, but it all plays out in the end, dirk gives in to his desires and gains a boyfriend, intercrural, jake gives in to peer pressure with stunning positive consequences, this is gonna start rowdy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeprince/pseuds/treeprince
Summary: It's your final year of college. Again. But at least this time you're doing something you love. It's also killing you slowly and eating all your time. You need to unwind.Good thing your friends look out for you.Or, "suck one (1) dick, gain a boyfriend slash roommate that wastes your money on overpriced  exotic food ingredients and your bandwidth on Netflix while you're away."





	1. it's electric, boogie woogie woogie

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall. so, this is a jam that will take some time to complete, but that i hope you all enjoy. bare with me as i navigate how to write jake "holy toledo" english in a way that doesnt deflate the arousal of every being present in the room. have fun!

This has been the longest semester of your short life, and you say that having already graduated three times, tassels and caps thrown. This track has, by far, been the most grueling of all your academic and apathetic pursuits. Digital arts should’ve been named something more appropriate, like, “murder your eyes, the career choice.” Or “which looks better? one pixel to the left, or right”?

 

But you picked this path, just like you picked your poison tonight at Jane’s sorority gig, a post celebration of all your midterms with all her gal pals and your mutual best friend extraordinaire, Roxy, who has been keeping you busy with a steady supply of liquid courage. Not that you don’t like a good party when your two best gals are involved, but you were sort of hoping for a different kind of wind down for the halfway. Which is why you “don’t know nothin’” about Jane’s cousin coming to this party, nor do you know anything about whether he’ll actually be a good hookup, but you’re desperate for just about anything to shave off the electricity crawling on your skin.

 

They know you haven’t had a decent lay since the semester started. It’s abysmal for your practically untarnished record of scoring good callers to siphon off all your tension. You just… haven’t had time to round up anything that will last for longer than one night. And it’s been months now, and with midterms over, you are a champagne bottle one more shake from poppin’ your top.

 

Roxy assured you that you were more than welcome to any other parties they host, but Greek isn’t exactly your scene. You’re a bit old for the freshman frat life to be honest, and you would’ve preferred getting wasted in your apartment if you were gonna stay this unnoticed, but as long as she keeps you boozed, you’ll stick around and keep an eye out for Jane’s cousin. 

 

You’ve been wallflowering this place for the last half hour now and haven’t seen hide nor hare of a guy fitting her description, and at this point you doubt you will. You clearly remember Jane complaining about her “sweet but awfully myopic” cousin a while back, and you hope it’s not the same guy. She said he was your type, but you’re way past being anyone’s sexual awakening.

 

You’re just about to take another sip from your fancy plastic cocktail glass when someone tall, dark, and blocking the light from the kitchen sidles up next to you and you glance over. 

 

“Are you a sight for sore eyes? Because my peepers are practically aching to look at you.”

 

You snort your drink, letting out a wet cough as you laugh. That had to be the  _ worst  _ pickup line you’ve ever heard.

 

“You can’t be serious. What kind of line was that?”

 

The stranger looks you up and down, and even shadowed you get a good look at some seriously green eyes set inside thick frames, attached to a fairly big build. And arms and legs that look like they could probably keep you lifted in the air for an extended period of time. That  _ almost _ makes up for the bad hook. Almost.

 

He’s making a face like you’ve barely even made a chip in his armor, and with how much alcohol is at this party, you’re not surprised. You’re pretty loose yourself right now, but that was honestly hilarious. His mouth ticks up into a grin and  _ wow he’s got some canines _ , and also some buckteeth? Strike one similarity down. This must be the kid, although he looks closer to your age maybe.

 

“I didn’t think I’d have to work that hard to land a whopper like you,” his eyes flick down, to your lips. “You seemed pretty in need of a rescue in your race to become one with this wall here,” he raps the plaster with one knuckle and then leans on that hand, grin still wide and eyes pinning you in place. "That pretty face deserves much greener pastures, don't you think? And better company to boot."

 

You feel heat rise in your face, and something else writhe in your gut. Has he been watching you this whole time? You thought Jane was still looking for him, but seems like he found you first. And just what exactly has she been saying about you to him? You’ll have to talk to her later that he’s pretty forward for a dude who supposedly cringes at PDA. And another talk about the boundaries of what is appropriate to reveal to your apparently entitled, sexist, distant family relations.

 

He’s still staring at you.

 

You look down at the glass in your hand. “Yea well, I didn’t think I’d be accosted by a friend’s relative like I was the campus hooker. You’ll definitely have to do better than _ that _ .” There’s a pause while you sip your drink, needing something to do while he keeps you there, and while your eyes find any other landmark to settle on as you quietly seethe.

 

“Relative?”

 

Oh. Oh shit.

 

You look back up, and he looks so very confused. Your anger drops into your stomach to fizzle out there as cold shame reaches over.

 

“You’re not Jane’s cousin?”

 

He shrugs, dark jacket riding up to show off the skin just below his navel. “Can’t say I know the lass.”

 

_ Oh fuck me. _ Of course you’d almost blow an easy target. This guy only came into your bubble on his own, and has been watching you do nothing all night, and nails all your aesthetic weaknesses, and can tell you need a good time as much as he’s offering one. And you almost blew it over your damnable pride.

 

You are so completely out of your element lately. This is the  _ entire reason _ why you’re here tonight. You can fix this, just, turn on the charm.

 

You hope Jane forgives you.

 

“O-Oh. Sorry for the mixup. You look almost exactly like…like...”

 

Oh c’mon, you can’t remember his name?

 

This fruity drink is not your wingman right now. You can’t think up what his name is, and you’re starting to feel your grip on your vocabulary slipping away. You don’t actually know what her cousin looks like, and your ability to fake things you don’t know is at a dangerous cliff edge. All that comes out is, “Uhh…”

 

“Someone else here, I presume?” 

 

“Yea.” 

 

Who isn’t here but you’ll take the opening for what it is. Your flub doesn’t seem to have turned him off at least, if the way he tries to lean into you like a human cage is any indication. 

 

“No spilled beans, my friend! I’ve heard that a time or two myself, if’m honest. I should be used to the doppelganger effect by now!” He laughs, and you’re drawn in. It’s deep, and bounces off the walls in your soft head. He should’ve lead with his laugh first. It’s very charming, even if his attempts to hook you aren’t.

 

“Now then, I noticed your drink is running low, and rather than make you down another drop, how’s about I rustle you up somewhere more private for a quick bite?” He winks. Or, you think he does, the light from the kitchen is getting brighter in your fuzzy state. Kinda hard to tell if he’s really serious about propositioning you or if he’s just, really bad at conversation.

 

Either way, you aren’t about to turn down a free meal.

 

But, you also made a promise…

 

Sighing, you lean back further into the wall. “Sorry, but I’ll pass. I’m expecting someone.”

 

He scoffs. “The same bloke who you’ve been waiting for all night? Who you just mistook me for?”

 

Okay, now you’re maybe a little put off.

 

“Yea actually. My friend told me he’d be here, and I promised I’d wait.”

 

He leans back a bit, takes his hand off the wall to cross his arms, and now the light pours into your eyes. You grimace and turn your face away. He looks as miffed as you feel.

 

“And you’ll stand guard here until he comes? How long d’you suppose that might take your absentee date?”

 

You’re not insulted, but this guy doesn’t even know you. “As long as it takes.”

 

You go to lift your glass to sip it, a sign that the conversation is over, but he beats you to it, a loud tsk leaving his mouth.

 

“Well then, if your prey never surfaces, I’ll be just around the corner. Best of luck there, chum.”

 

In the glare of the light, all you see is a toothy grin, and then like he was never there, you’re suddenly alone again in the hall. 

 

Without him there, sound rushes back in. It’s deafening in the wake of his absence, as if he’d been keeping all the chatter out with his bulk alone. And with it, you instantly feel regret. You’re kind of shocked honestly. Sure he was attractive, from what you could make out in all that darkness and through vodka’s windows, but the sting you feel from not falling for his awkward bluntness is settling in quick. 

 

Your glass sits in your hand with that last mouthful at the bottom, unmoving, much like you seem to be glued to the wall. It’s barely been five minutes, you think. You don’t actually know, you left your fancy watch at home tonight. Going after a guy you just met isn’t new to you, but you just turned him down. For what? The chance at a potential bedmate for the week or month, however long it takes before enough time has passed for you to successfully break off with your best friend's cousin? You’re not actually all that sure of how much of a social faux pas it is to sleep with someone’s family in the first place. That’s not even a solid bet though, and your eyes already know that as they start glancing around the room, trying to find a tall dark mass in the spaces between. You’re peeking around bodies, trying to catch another glimpse of the elusive double, but he’s nowhere in sight. 

 

How likely is it that her cousin actually showed up, huh. Or that he’s even interested in you. A sure thing just turned around the corner and you let it go.  _ Just around the corner... _

 

You finish the rest of your glass in one swig, moving to set it on the coffee table nearby.

 

You've made worse decisions in your life, and recently too. Bringing a mug too similar to your paint jar for one. You dealt with the consequences then like you'll deal with the consequences now, if you find him in time.

 

It only takes a couple strides before you’re looking down another hallway. Passed the living room full of loud music and the writhing bodies, and away from the only two people who know you here. 

 

It’s a muted darkness that greets you. Only one light is shining from under a door ahead, but with it you can see the outline of the stairs that lead up to Jane’s sorority mate’s bedrooms. There’s nobody else around, and you know a hook like that wouldn’t pick the bathroom, so up you go, feet stumbling a bit as you make your way onto the second floor.

 

From the landing, you can see one of the doors is open. There’s only the barest hint of light coming from the chasm. You take a breath, and reach the doorway. It’s dark, but you can see the source of light now. Someone sleeps with a nightlight, and in its pale glow, you see the shape of a large body lounging on the bed.

 

You can’t see his face until he grins. Teeth flash at you, and slowly a hand reaches up, fingers beckoning.

 

You move forward, and shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment. You’re not nervous, just, lightheaded.

 

“Changed your mind I see,” the smirk on his face and the smugness of his voice is sending jolts down your spine. You try not to let it show.

 

“Don’t push it.”

 

He chuckles, “Fair enough.” 

 

You’re still standing there though, too afraid that if you walk forward you’ll just collapse onto the bed, and though that’s not something you’re  _ not _ interested in, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking you’re easy. 

 

He solves your gravity problems for you, the bed springs squeaking as he’s up and in front of you faster than you can process. All this time slippage is making you antsy, and you’re already itching for  _ something _ to do with the tension strumming through you. You might have had too much to drink.

 

“I say though, aren’t you just scrumptious.” He practically  _ purrs _ the word at you, air hissing out of his teeth as he leans in. His fingers lift your chin, the other hand finding its way down your neck before he thumbs at your collarbone. “I haven’t stopped wanting to get a taste of you all night.”

 

There’s heat in your face again, but you’re feeling confident. A little vanity praise has never shot you so full of pride. You’re an open invitation now, as you hit him with a matching smile of your own.

 

“Then eat me.”

 

You thought you’d seen all his teeth, but now. His grin is so wide, you feel some of that momentary confidence shrink away.

 

“ _ Gladly _ .”

 

His lips descend like a thunderclap, sparks igniting like a brushfire down to your toes. With all those teeth you thought you’d be getting a mouth full of pain on first contact, but he’s soft as silk, guiding your kisses into sliding lips and teasing tongue. His thumb keeps stroking the skin of your clavicle, while the ones holding your chin go wandering up the hills of your cheekbones to stake their claim at the summit of your ears. They slide into your hair, nails gently scratching your scalp as he moves you further back into the door, a slow pressure building in you as his hands lock you in securely. There’s a leg making its way between yours, and you don’t hesitate to grind on it. It’s added balance you don’t have at the moment, and the way he’s got you gripped, you’re not going anywhere.

 

This is, a lot nicer than you thought it would be, and definitely not where you were expecting this rendezvous to go. He’s still just kissing you, and as much as you like the way your lips smack with a wet pop as you both break for snatched air, you’re gonna need more than this to get what you want. You can’t move your head to chase his lips when you break apart again, so you use the opportunity you’re given.

 

“Hey, let’s move this-”

 

“Lickety-split!”

 

You’ve barely spoken before he’s backing up towards the bed, guiding you by the head as he lands another blazing kiss on you. It's getting harder for you to catch your breath, even breathing through your nose. You're cut off with a gasp though as he swings you around to land on your back, bouncing on the bed before he's there to pin you in. 

 

His hands are like fire where they run up your bare arms. The cotton of your shirt is like wool compared to the satiny feel of his palms as they wrap around your bony wrists and hold you there. Your skin is catching the embers he leaves behind in their wake, burning a slow path to your core that you hope gets shaken. He kisses you with a fervor you wish you could feel forever, and the boxed in feeling you had before is back, some deeper part of you screaming that  _ yes, this is what you want _ . This is what you came here for. To get wrapped up in security while your mind gets carried away, letting you breathe for a while before you plunge back into breakneck deadlines and long nights of frustration.

 

There’s something nagging you though. Between your next surface for air, you try to speak.

 

“Hey,” his lips steal another kiss and you’re back under, but it’s brief. You breathe again. “What’s your name?”

 

He huffs, but you don’t think he’s upset. He almost sounds amused.

 

“You can call me Jake, if you like.”

 

“Jake.”

 

It’s like a signal flare. 

 

He’s back with his teeth, and his hips, and you feel your lungs aching for oxygen after what feels like only a moment. He’s getting a good grind down on your junk, your hips trying to rise to meet him but it’s like fighting the ocean. You can’t do more than helplessly grind back as he pulls the air out of you one way and makes you drag it back in with rolling pressure. It feels like a really nice dick in those shorts he’s sporting, and you’re hoping you get a chance to at least touch it, if not  _ get _ touched tonight. 

 

Which is endgame if you’re being honest. Going one more night with your imagination is untenable. You’re practically in a relationship with your thoughts this year, you desperately need fresh meat, and Jake is turning into a fine appetizer.

 

You’re no stranger to a good makeout, but if someone doesn’t start touching your dick soon, you’re going to be in the same spot you’ve been from the beginning. Your hands are twitching, shifting and gripping for the bed sheets restlessly, your legs jumping when a good shock goes through you when his hardened length runs the full length up your own. You try signaling him that you’re ready to get this show on the road, but it’s probably hard to tell the difference between your moans and the noises you’re  _ trying _ to make sound like words inside his mouth. Eventually he takes your garbled nonsense to mean more than just enthusiastic applause.

 

“Everything alright dish?” The string of spit from his lips to yours as he pulls away is sinful.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I just- I think we’re good to go here.”

 

“Ready to top off the night so soon? I was rather enjoying the delightful way you were squirming beneath me.” He sounds too smug, and even in low light, you know the face he’s making will only piss drunk you off.

 

“Look, I’m all game for a bit of tonsil hockey, but I didn’t follow you up these stairs for a first base run. Now either get me off or-” you’re cut off by a quick bite to your nose. It stuns you enough that your retort dies on your tongue.

 

You must look hilarious because he barks out a laugh that sounds absolutely sinister, but you’re entirely certain you’re not being mocked. In fact, you kind of feel like a cat someone just caught begging by the food bowl. 

 

“Don’t fret!“ he chuckles, ”Don’t fret at all, love! We’ll get right into the main course if that’s what has you so eager to please~”

 

His hands reaching up to push your thin fingers together— almost like a prayer— before holding them there with one hand cuts off your next retort. The other quickly finds itself tracing its steps down your arm to the sensitive skin behind your ear, eyelids feeling heavy as fingernails scratch with gentle pressure along the downy hairs before moving on to new territory. A marching path leaving little bonfires in their wake. He tiptoes his way down your jawline to your neck, stopping to admire the dips and canyons as you breathe in shaky, unstable breaths, the flutter of your pulse brushing his lips as he presses kisses down, down, down the line of your throat to nip at your adam’s apple. You hear the way he inhales, a deep lingering  _ sniff _ that ends on an exhale you can only call “exhilarated”.

 

He seems to really like that because he’s taking his time to get back to stealing your attention completely, a respite you’re not necessarily relishing but taking advantage of anyway. You open eyes you don’t remember closing and catch the look in his own, and all the air is caught in your chest. There’s an intensity there you’re not sure you’ve ever received before, a bright spotlight in beryl green stereo shining down on you in phosphorous bedlight glow. You’re both...captivated for a moment. But then you see it shift into something else, something wholly different.

 

_ Hunger _ .

 

It feels like a lifetime passes in that space between the in-and-out of vodka tinged breath before he makes a move again, your head swimming under what seems like a fever taking pitch. You don’t move. Can’t move.

 

He crashes like a wave into you, and you feel teeth sink into the divot of your neck and shoulder. Your dick jumps in its cotton prison. A sharp gasp is all that leaves you at first, and then a slow and echoing whine that crescendos into a moan as he slides both hands into your pants, fingers pushing worn jeans down jaunted hips before wrapping around your aching cock. You manage a weak attempt at saying his name again, before it stumbles and catches on the stones in your throat. A hitching “Ja-ayke!” that dies before another pitiful whine escapes you. 

 

Heat floods you, and the heady fever feeling is pushed out by the pounding of your blood in your ears and in your neck, tethered to where he’s sucking at your skin and leaving you a mess of sweat and slick. It’s unnerving you how much this is turning you on, but it's fleeting in the face of your arousal as the spring you’ve been carrying all semester coils tighter, tighter. His hands work you over like he’s been practicing all his life to give a handy and you’re the final exam of his dicking down domination. You’re so close, why are you so close. God, you want to come, but it’s like you’re frozen, lead in your veins and molten iron in your gut, weighing you down to the bed like a lodestone. He holds all the cards and your leaking dick is all that’s helping him keep a steady pace, while you’re hinged like a trap waiting to snare its prey and get that elusive high you’ve been missing. You’re nothing but pleas and whimpers that shake as you try to beg for release.

 

He takes one more long drag of his fist up your dick, with fingers that twist just at the tip and you are  _ shook _ . Rattled from head to toe as he pumps you through the rest of your orgasm, a silent scream that ends in stilted puffs of air as you let the rush of endorphins crash into you. You’re quivering all over, but you still don’t move, eyes closed in ecstasy and hands clenched in the sheets as he finally lets your dick slip from his grasp.

 

As you come to, barely keeping head above water in the cotton sea of your fuckdrunk mind, you make out quiet murmurs and the sound of smacking lips, as of someone licking the last of their meal from their teeth.

 

“That’s it. That’s the fucking ticket. Oh~ Let me have it all, dish, you delicious thing.” 

 

Oh my god, is he for real. He licked your cum off his hands, which, spared your shirt at least... You can’t be fucked to move at this point, but that was one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years. Not even your own solo jobs managed to get you this...  _ unwound _ , and you’re not about to address how fucking cheesy he sounds just because it’s tainting your haze. As if he’s some kind of Anne Rice knock-off and not another college grad doing sleazy one-night stands at a classy kegger.

 

Pull yourself together, man. If you want another hit of the drug he’s dealing, you’re gonna have to clench this with a solid swing out of the park.

 

When it feels like your bones aren’t going to start leaving you for more peaceful lands, you brace yourself and lean up, and almost fall forward straight into Jake’s lap but he catches you.

 

“Woah, easy now! Should you be moving around after all that fuss about getting your world rocked??” 

 

“Oh my god,” you drag a hand down your face. Please be worth it,  _ please _ let this dick be worth it. 

 

You give him a withering glance, which is not your most effective with how your eyes keep swaying back and forth in your afterglow woozy state.

 

“I’m giving you fair warning right now that I’m not one hundred percent conscious at the moment, but m’not that kinda guy who just gets his jollies and runs. Or gives into peer pressure. So please just let me suck your dick so we can call this even?”

 

He’s quiet. Either you’ve stunned him, or he’s unsure how to answer.

 

“I can make this easy and just go for it, but I like my consent as much as I love my dick getting wet, so…” 

 

He’s hesitating for some reason, eyes darting around the room nervously, and that makes you a bit edgy, your fingers curling in his shirt to steady yourself. That slight movement brings his attention back to you though, and you see his  over confidence return like a flash, as if he hadn’t been planning an exit strategy, but he’s still silent.

 

“Are we doing this or not?” you say that like you’re not the one still getting aftershocks in your pants, and silently cheer yourself in your head. Take that alcohol. Your faux frustration spurs him on.

 

“Now see here! You’re the one who’s brain is positively addled, and I’m not about to- to scramble an egg I’ve already poached!”

 

“So that’s a no?” you drag your fingers down his stomach, and the arms that caught you earlier let you, making you feel a little better about this setup. You follow them with your eyes, watching the way the flesh under fabric twitches when you pass over sensitive skin. You don’t usually have to convince someone to let you blow their dick, but he deserves at least that much from you. You’re still feeling tingles down to your toes, so why doesn’t he want the same?

 

“I’m all for finding something else to do to pay you back, if that’s what you want.” You’re just about to reach the line of his shorts when his grip stops you.

 

“I think,” you look up and lock eyes with a face that says  _ I warned you _ , “I may have to scramble you after all.”

 

From down here, his eyes look like embers. Bottle green and electrifying. You can’t look away. That leaden feeling starts seeping back.

 

You’re frozen again, but in the space between where you’re sitting stunned, he takes the initiative, sliding his hands to your neck and pushing forward til you’re lying back and your hair touches the pillow. He grabs another one, propping you up so you’re face to face with the seam of his shorts. One hand is cupping your face, while the other moves to his zipper and you hear the  _ vwip _ of metal teeth parting ways. You’re still locking eyes when you feel something silky soft and hot touch your lips. Flicking your tongue out takes all you have, but you lick it, getting salty sweat and sticky sweet in your mouth, savoring it for a moment.

 

He closes his eyes with a sigh, and like a switch goes off, you’re back in your body, ready to pilot this thing.

 

You waste no time, and dive in.

 

Pumping what you can’t reach with your mouth helps, but it doesn’t matter much because his dick isn’t very long. Sucking the tip makes him gasp, while twisting your lips around the shaft as you pull him in sends vibrations into you. Bobbing your head is difficult in the position you’re in, but he’s already trembling, fingers shifting and gripping in your hair, pulling at the scalp a bit before petting it down and finding somewhere else to dig. He’s making absolutely wonderful music to your ears, and it’s enough to egg you on and try to take him deeper after a few moments have passed.

 

You use an old trick, laying your tongue flat and pulling his hips towards you slowly, digging thumbs into the meat between his bones so you can focus on relaxing your throat. He glides in like a key, dick twitching and gasps stuttering as he loses coherency, and you feel your nose hit the surprisingly soft hair of his crotch. The fingers in your hair tighten, and he holds you there, dick all the way in and you try to remember how not to lose control. Everyone likes to enjoy their first deepthroat, and you don't mind a lil asphyxiation play, provided the dick in your mouth doesn't suddenly get bigger. Like right now.

 

Either he’s a grower or you imagined it earlier, but you grunt in surprise as suddenly he’s taking up all the space in your mouth and your throat is trying to convulse, clawing for air where there is none. You whimper but you hold out, and just before it feels like the black creeping in will consume you, he pulls away and you suck in blessed oxygen through your nose, the head of his dick still sitting pretty on your tongue. You only get a second to collect yourself before he’s sliding in again, but you’ve done this part enough to breathe easy. You hope.

 

The pace he sets isn’t rough, but he’s rocking his hips hard enough to make the pressure on your scalp feel like a vice. Your own fingers are dug into thighs so hard you’re worried you’ll pierce skin, but it hasn’t stopped him and on a particularly swift thrust, he hits the back of your throat before you can breathe. You choke around his dick for a second and he moans, sending sparks down your already overtaxed nerves.

 

The molten feeling is winding its way back through you, working up your spine and down your aching legs and arms. There’s moisture in your eyes, but the taste of his dick and the smell of his skin is setting your other senses on fire. It’s nothing like the backroom blowjobs you’ve given before, they’ve never turned your blood to lava like this and it makes you slightly anxious but god it feels  _ amazing _ and you can tell he’s getting close, slow steady pumps pistoning into longer thrusts that pull you to the end of his dick before plunging you back to the base. Your own dick is trying to make a comeback, a steady half chub going full mast on the next slide, and with the way Jake’s track record is going, you might actually pop a second one off. Wouldn’t that be great, two ‘gasms for the price of one sweet dick.

 

Now if only his language would match the way he fucks your mouth. 

 

Blearily, you can make out words spewing from him in a litany of o’s and yes’s and soft sighs. Others fall out though, things like “jiminy hopping cricket, that’s good” and “stars and garters, you’re a first class cadet on my rocket” and you're so lucky that you aren't catching any breaks to write home about the goofy way he tries to dirty talk. It might not even be dirty talk, as far as you’re concerned, and honestly you’re barely paying attention to what he’s saying, the steady glide of his dick and your desperate moans for air are taking all your thoughts far away. Consciousness is slipping from you, all that's holding you up is his hands at the back of your head and his rigid cock keeping your jaw wide.

 

He’s two strokes away from blowing his load down your pipe for how he’s started to tense up, and you feel it hit him, hips stuttering before holding you in place as he lets his own orgasm rock him, hot and heavy down your throat. You suck with all the energy you have left, holding on for the final spurts to come as he slowly pulls out, warm and wet slipping from your aching esophagus. Your lips and tongue will be sore in the morning based on the raspiness of your voice, and you delight in knowing it means you won’t have to explain yourself first thing in the daylight to your friends.

 

You don't think you can stay awake like this, but you’re starting to think that’s alright. He’s petting your hair, praising you with noises you can’t parse but that you think _mean good job, well done._ Your dick is still hard, sticking out of your open boxers, and you don't feel him move down until something hot wraps around the head before it sucks at the tip, and you cry out a broken yell as you cum instantly into his waiting mouth. The last of your energy is gone, and you feel yourself slip far, far away into the comforter beneath you, the last thing you see out of the sliver of your eyes his winning smile as he licks his lips.

  
This is what you wanted, and no matter what Jane says tomorrow, you’re sure she’ll forgive you when she sees you in the morning. With a ring of hickeys round your neck and plump red lips like the proud recipient of the stellar lay that you are.

And, maybe, you'll see him around campus sometime.


	2. so sinister, but last night was wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you make a lot of poor decisions while drunk, but this might take the cake for lamest morning-after

 

Waking up is a task of Herculean strength. 

Rising out of the slurry of your consciousness and trying to remember what you did last night takes far too long for you to piece together, but you do. Especially when you go to crack a yawn, and sharp pain is what you receive for your efforts, and the majority of it comes back as you rub your aching cheeks and neck. 

You got face fucked last night, but your partner doesn’t appear to have stuck around for the morning show. Fine. That’s totally fine. It’s not like you expected a Greek party to land you a ring, much less a boyfriend or even  _ less _ a friend with benefits. Okay, maybe that last one, if Jane’s cousin had made it to you before  _ Jake _ did. Man, Jake. He really knocked you for six last night, didn’t he. You don’t remember much of what he looked like, but you’re not going to be forgetting that smile. Lips like the devil and teeth more gentle than their sharp protrusions would have you believe. And a dick you wish you could get another shot at, but that window might’ve closed if the absence of your not-date is any kind of clue. Something like bitterness twists at the back of your mind, but you tamp it down.

Maybe it’s a good thing you never got to find out which was better.

Getting out of your borrowed bed, you take a look around at the room you stayed in last night, and have to do a double take. Squinting at the dresser, you see some photos in cute little cerulean frames, mustaches and paper boy hats for decoration. It strikes you as familiar. Then it hits you. The pictures on the nightstand are familiar, because your brother took them of the three of you. 

You slept in Jane’s room. 

_ Jane sleeps with a nightlight, _ is the first thought that comes to you. Awh, that’s beyond adorable. 

And you had  _ sex in her bed. _

Panic takes over. You need to get up now and run before she sees what you’ve done. The sheets are mussed from sleep and you rush to fix them. Flapping the comforter and having last night's musk hit your nose sends you back to that moment, panted breath and wet heat... you stop your boner before it gets carried away.

A quick glance in the mirror tells you there’s nothing to be done for your hair, your shirt is rumpled, your jeans are open, and there’s a slew of hickies with one big one in the hollow of your neck. You’re a mess from head to toe, but you clean up as much as you can and rub your eyes, try to get the sleep out of them before you walk downstairs and greet your fate. The door was closed (well, at least he was nice enough to do that for you), but you can still hear the sounds of pots clanging and the beep of a 12 cup coffee maker. You’re not getting out unscathed, might as well embrace your destiny.

Spotting the door to the bathroom down the hall, you change your route. Actually, fuck this, you’re going to at least get clean before you walk-of-shame your way into her kingdom.  
  
  


Taking a shower kills a good chunk of time for you (and also lets you come up with a strategy once the heated spray helps calms you down). Now, you’re only just sore in the mouth, and the gravel in your throat has leveled out to a slightly bumpy asphalt. One look at the clock in the hall lets you know it's almost noon, which means most of the other flat mates are gone. Even better. Less mess for you to walk into, and more coffee.

You’re still rubbing a towel through your hair when you walk into the kitchen. Roxy is occupied with a plate of steaming pancakes, and Jane has her back to you flipping more on a griddle. There’s another plate on the table Roxy’s sitting at, and you know a last meal when you see one. You slide in unnoticed on bare feet ‘til the chair you pull out scrapes across the linoleum tiles. Roxy looks up from her stack of pancakes, fork halfway to her mouth and whistles.

“Well, well welly well~ Look what the cat finally dragged in!” She points her pancaked fork at you, and you know she zero’d in on the bright ring of bruises peeking out of your shirt. “And looks like he made a friend. How sweet. Shame he didn’t, I dunno, tell his friends he was gonna _ disappear~ _ ?”

That stings, but you deserve it. Still, you can’t but help let a little’ petulant sniff pop out of you.

“It wasn’t my intention to make off like an 80’s teen and go find myself in a stranger,” you pick up your fork and smear the butter on top of your stack before reaching for the syrup. “In fact, I was still waiting to run into Jane’s cousin but, someone else beat him to it.”

She blinks at you, and you take a bite of your perfect pancakes. The syrup sticks to your tongue, but the pancakes are even sweeter, still fresh and warm. You’re chewing slowly since your mouth is still recovering, but that first swallow helps soothe the ache. Just means you can savor the flavor longer. She turns in her chair to face Jane, who still hasn’t looked at you. You chew slower.

“Janey, are you hearing this?”

“Yes, Roxy.” She doesn’t turn around, but her spatula creaks in her hand. “Dirk is a grown man, he can do what he wants. If he wants to run off without saying anything, he’s allowed to do it.”

Ouch. Okay, well meaning friends hurt worse than anything. Swallowing this pancake down suddenly feels like taking poison. You look down at your plate, no longer hungry.

“I deserve that….”

“Oh!! Don’t even start, buster!” She slams the spatula down, startling both of you at the table. “I won’t apologize for being upset, but I also know you got what you wanted, and it probably made you happy-“

“Oh you bet it did-“

“Roxy, shoosh.” Jane sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looks tense, and you realize you’re matching her, shoulders hunched and back straight in your seat. “I don’t mind you bounding off to do your own thing. I’m not your babysitter, and I don’t wish to be. But a little warning in the future would do you some good.” She looks at you admonishingly, and you feel two feet tall. Sitting down to her cooking is not helping. “And me,” she finishes.

Fuck, you’re the worst. You made them worry, and that’s all on you. So you got your dick wet, and sloughed off a bit of the anxious thrill you’ve been seeking all semester. You still fucked off without a word to the only people you know in the building.

You try to swallow down whatever emotion is trying to claw its way out of you, but a croak escapes. “I’m sor-hgh,” you clear your throat, and the frog goes back into its hole. You try again, but it’s soft. “I’m sorry.”

“And?”

“And… I promise to shoot you a text next time I get drunk and wander off with a stranger who says they have candy in their van.”

She cuts a laugh off, unable to stay mad at you when she knows you genuinely feel bad. There’s clear exasperation in her tone when she says, “Good. Now, if you’d like to get back to your breakfast-after-noon before it gets cold,” making eyes at your barely touched food. You groan and roll your eyes. The  _ one _ time you sleep in on a weekend.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m on it.” And dig back into your meal with a warmer feeling in your gut. She might be slightly miffed at you still, but if she gave you the green light, you’ll take it, no questions asked.

Roxy’s finishing her plate as you take a bite, finger swiping up a gooey drop of syrup that escapes your lips, when she lets out a loud gasp. You catch a blur by your neck and then  _ ow _ . Her finger is pressing right into the center of the big bruise, completely visible now when you went to wipe your mouth.

“Holy shit, he  _ mauled _ you,” she’s leaned across table like a shot, arm reaching to push your shirt collar aside, a sticky finger jabbed into the skin. You slap her hand away, try to cover it up. It’s too late though, Jane has seen its full shape, and she gasps.

“Dirk, good gracious what happened?!”

“Uhh,” you flush down to your toes. Roxy tsks.

“I didn’t think biting was your thing, but whoever he was, he had some damn big chompers.” She looks down at it one more time, and judging by her face, you’re nowhere near to covering the whole messy thing. “He didn’t slip you anything, did he? Cuz this is gonna be there for a while.”

“No! No, no.” You hasten to assure them. The mountain of your worries doesn’t need two more heavy boulders of concern coming down on you, even if one of them is more amused than worried. “I mean, I know I have a sub streak a mile wide, but I don’t remember saying anything about teeth. But you learn something new every day, right?”

Roxy scoffs, but takes your word. Jane looks like she doesn’t want to know what you mean by that, and turns back to her batter bowl. Roxy goes back to picking off crumbs with her fingertips from her plate.

“Well, I suppose I’ll let you off the hook this time. John didn’t even make it by last night anyway.” 

“Mh,” Roxy tries to swallow and talk at the same time, putting a hand over her mouth, “Honestly Dirky you probably dodged a bullet there with that one.” 

Jane looks back at her, nonplussed.

“Whaaat? I’m not entirely wrong! Johny’s a sweet kid but,” she rolls her eyes a bit, doesn’t want to keep contact with Jane’s thoughtful glare. It takes another second for her to come up with something that won’t completely set her defenses off. “Let’s just say, I don’t think Dirk woulda taken the bait on that one.” 

Jane huffs, stays silent for a moment. Then, like a balloon deflating, she sighs. “Ohh, you’re probably right. John’s a good kid, but he’s not adept at reading between the lines.” Like the thought hits her, she primly snorts, then turns off the burner on the stove. “Terrible, really.” She slides her spatula along the pan, and finishes off the stack on the counter, picks up her plate and sets it down between the two of you, joining you at the table. Before she picks up her fork, she turns to you, something like an apology in her eyes. “I hope you don’t think ill of me for being upset, I  _ am  _ happy for you that you had a good time last night. That’s more important than any plans we might have had for you.”

You let the grin you’ve been hiding slip onto your face. “Jane, you could stab me right here with that knife and I’d still love you.”

She smiles back, red lips plump and perfectly lined as she titters, shaking her head at your antics. “Oh you silly goose. I love you, too. Now dig in, I made that plate especially for you!”

She pours the syrup over her stack, steam rising off her plate. Roxy steals a slab off the top, and Jane lets her off with only the tiniest hmph, but still keeps a smile. You dig back into yours, about a third of the way into your breakfast and feeling… _ good _ . The warm feeling in you is pleasant, and spreads all over, like a balm after a stormy sea. You remember why you love your friends, as much as you try to pretend you wouldn’t take a bullet for them. The pancakes taste even better going down now. You practically moan around the next bite. She giggles.

“Enjoying them, Dirk?”

You give an affirmative nod around a mouthful of sweet dough, and swallow it down. “You’re the only woman I’d let into my kitchen, Crocker.” You go to cut another piece off, a hefty forkful at your lips.

“Such faith! It almost makes me feel bad about slipping that laxative into your pancakes!”

Roxy chokes, and you drop your fork with a clang as it hits the half empty plate. Her hand bangs against the table as she reaches for her glass to help clear her throat, coughing and hacking as Jane sits there grinning, poised and pretty on her throne of destruction. She glances up at you through winged cats eyelashes, and you feel the icy glare of death upon you as cold dread pumps your veins, and something _ else _ roils in your stomach. The gears click into place. Jake wasn’t the one who closed the door.

Delicately, she puts a soft hand on your own, expertly painted nails that are digging slightly into your skin. Her smile is made of the devil’s laughter.

“Next time, don’t take your lays to my room.”

The clatter of your chair is drowned out over the sound of Roxy and Jane’s laughter as you bolt for the bathroom.

  
  
  


Life goes on, your weekend holiday from hell ends, and your descent into another two month-long stint of trying to finish projects and filling out your portfolio begins. It’s a welcome reprieve from the full day you spent making up for your transgressions, even if it didn’t release you from Crocker’s pranking for the foreseeable future. She knows where the spare key to your apartment is, and you have better knowledge than most of how far she’ll go to enact vengeance.

Telling her the nitty gritty details of your hookup didn’t ease your sentence, even if it tickled Roxy pink to get them secondhand from Jane later. 

It’s been about a week though, and the heightened senses you’ve engaged to handle her attacks are starting to go dull from exhaustion. She’s put itching powder in your bedsheets, and it took three washes at 2 bucks a pop at the 24 hr laundromat down the block to get that out. After that, it was cayenne pepper mixed in with your instant coffee, add in salt replacing all your sugar. Those were honestly the most tame you’ve experienced, but you are intimately familiar with what she’s capable of, so you keep your guard up. You also apologize profusely with gifts and compliments, not that it helps much. The real trick is to make her feel bad for you, which you know she won’t buy right away. 

So a week it is, and then you can show up with bags under your eyes and capitalist triple-shot espresso mocha in hand (since you still can't trust your own), ready to be pitied and for the torture to end. It works, her carefully crafted look of innocence fading to actual concern as you drop like dead weight into the chair next to her. It’s only after you’ve whinged and whined about your workload (well, to the extent that you will whine about anything, which is almost zero) and said your goodbyes a short while later do you know that the pranking will stop. For now.

You give a mental sigh in relief when she’s out of sight, and pull your sketchbook out, charcoal at the ready. Might as well get some practice in to loosen you up for tonight. Rolling your sleeves back, you pick a student not sitting far off, and stretch your arms and hands to get started. He’s got a good silhouette (and a built sort of stature that reminds you of someone else, but you lock that thought away) and soft looking flyaway hair. Perfect for a good warmup.

You’re about to take another sip of your drink, lukewarm coffee sliding past your lips, when someone sits down next to you. A greeting like smoked honey makes you choke.

“Well, well. Salutations! I think I’d recognize those DSLs anywhere. Didn’t we have a lovely little liaison a few nights ago?”

Mystified, with coffee dribbling from your chin, you turn to look at your intruder. Like a veil is lifted, you recognize him instantly. Even if you hadn’t, you’d know that serpentine smile anywhere.

“Jake??” 

How he appeared out of the fucking ether without you hearing him walk up, you’ll never know. He somehow spotted you on this huge campus, out of all the tables scattered around the quad filled with students, like a hound on the scent. You can’t believe it. You didn’t think you’d actually see him again, especially after his disappearing act a week ago. Without the dark blotch on your skin as a reminder (that Roxy kindly lent you her concealer for) you almost thought you’d dreamt him up.

His pickup lines are even  _ worse _ sober, holy shit. You can’t even muster up another emotion besides disbelief, although another one that’s been simmering for a while starts to roll. You know you sound incredulous once you finally clear your throat to speak.

“You are…  _ really _ bad at this, aren’t you.”

Jake pouts, but easily slides back into a presumptuous little leer that sends off warning bells. “Still good enough for you.”

You tsk, head down to go back to adding your dark lines to the paper. And if you’re pressing down a little harder than usual, who cares. Not you, certainly. Surprise has shipped off, and in its place, you finally taste that anger you put on the back burner. “Not really.”

“I find that hard to believe, pet. You made the most delicious sounds that night, if I recall.” He reclines in the chair, leaning in close to do so, and you can smell his breath. Salt and caramel. You shiver. From the cold. 

Just focus on your sketch, and he’ll leave, just like he left that night. 

His hands have other plans, working their way to your arm holding the sketchbook in place. They’re a distraction, long dark fingers spreading scorching heat in your direction.

“Maybe I’m not interested.” But it’s a lie. You’re already burning up, fire catching in you and searing your insides. You’re undoubtedly up for it, as if just being near him is enough to crank your engine.

He gives a quiet hmph beside you, rustling the hairs at your neck. Another shiver passes through you, down to your toes this time, and you huddle in on yourself. You’re just tired, it’s been a long week, and you know what that mouth is capable of. He’s pushing buttons because it worked on you last time, but not now. So what if the heat coursing through you is coming directly from him, or that it’s suddenly that much harder to keep your eyes on your paper.

“Oh, that’s highly unlikely.” You stiffen up. A glance tells you that he’s looking at you, but his eyes are on your arms, on the dark lines there in your skin. His hand comes up, two fingers in a V as he brings them to the edge of an elaborate crown wreathed in flowering vines in the center of your forearm, and slowly traces them down, down to your wrist, where the lines of your tattoo ends in a cutoff. 

He’s focused on the series of dotted lines traveling up your vein, so it’s quiet when he muses out loud, “What a shame I didn’t get a load of these pretty poppies that night.”

He lifts your arm up to his lips, presses the lines against them in a kiss. It feels like ice when he pulls away, and you fall into the trap, catching his gaze. The smolder before ignites, and you light up like kindling, a thrum under your skin that you can’t ignore.

When you speak you try not to let the shake in your voice be obvious.

“There’s more in the back.”

  
  
  


The door slams behind you in the stall you’ve hidden in, but you don’t care about how much noise you’re making right now.

You’re clear on the opposite side of the building, in the part of the labs where hardly anyone enters except the rare student who remembers there’s a bathroom on this side. Teachers don’t come this way when they have their own, nicer ones upstairs, but this one will suffice. It’s far enough from all the classrooms that you’re not worried about curious invaders.

The bonus is that this one comes with a lock on the door, which you immediately take advantage of when you dragged your dalliance in here.

Those teeth of his are back in action, nipping at your lower lip impatiently, but you don’t want them taking center stage. You can barely think when those pearly whites get into your skin.

Getting his attention takes some work, with his hands holding your arms up against the door. You nudge him a little, try to see if there’s any give, but no dice. His body is flush with yours, and there’s a pleasant rush of satisfaction in your guts every time he grinds against your half hard dick. He pushes you harder into cold metal, and you wish you’d picked a better place to do this, because you’re very much enjoying the experience but it’s not very comfortable. Hindsight and all that. Maybe next time... 

Your brain trips over the thought of a  _ next time. _

You hesitate, and he notices, pulling away with a thoughtful hum. His lips are shiny slick, panting wet and hot breath that hits your face as both of you catch some air. “Something wrong?” 

You don't answer right away, caught up in studying his face through the haze, his eyes flitting from your lips to your neck, then back up. He’s got great cheekbones, and thick brown hair, perfect for running fingers through now that you don’t have beer goggles on. Cupid bow lips, one’s you’ve really been enjoying. When they’re not used for awful pickup lines.

You snap out of it at your name being said.   
  
“No, I just,” shaking your head, you rearrange your train of thought, letting go of whatever that jittery feeling is. Anticipation, or something like it. Not that you actually expect him to give you his phone number this time. Track record notwithstanding, he doesn’t seem the type.   
  
There’s a cute furrow in his brow, thick eyebrows fumbling and bright eyes growing uneasy. Bring yourself back, you’re taking too long.    
  
This position is familiar at least, and that makes you laugh, injecting a bit of confidence back into your spine.   
  
“I keep finding myself up against the wall with you, don't I?”   
  
That makes him smile, if not reassured that you’re still on board for, whatever this is. A tryst, of some kind. Whatever the case, he looks perfectly happy to start things up again, leaning closer and voice lowered to a husky growl.    
  
“If I could I’d have you pinned and pretty on my bed at all times.”   
  
That sends a welcome thrill through you, dick twitching in his direction in your pants, but you’re hit with a wash of aggravation, a quiet displeased hmph exiting your lips.

“Is that why you weren’t in it when I woke up then? Because it wasn’t yours?”

That slows him down, shock obvious on his face. He actually looks a bit sheepish, the edge of his smile turning down, but you hold steady. You’re not easy and you know it, but you’re not letting him get away with thinking that you are, just because you gave in(again).

“Terribly sorry about that. Wasn’t my intention to leave so soon, but I was pulled away by some… obligations.”

Sure, you’ll believe that. In hell. You weren’t born yesterday. “Do these  _ obligations _ involve cutting and running?”

“I can’t say they do! At least, not as untimely as they did right then.” He purses his lips, and you’ll admit his pout is cute, but it’s not doing you any favors. You wait him out, watching the gears turn in his head and it doesn't take long. He must like what he came to, a pleased look resting on his face and shoulders. 

The smile he gives you now is almost sweet, soft and easy. “Would you allow me to make it up to you? Any fashion you like, position you prefer? I’d be happy to make amends in whatever way you’d see fit.” His thumbs rub the inside of your wrists, grazing over the bumps of your tattoos.

That feels…nice. It’s a lot more gentle than you’re used to. But you think you know what you want.

“You could return the favor,” you hint, glancing down at your hips that are still touching, a nice, even pressure but nothing that gives you any relief.

“Certainly! Just say the word and I’ll be bobbing along your schlong!”

_ Why is he like this?? _ You groan loudly before remembering where you are, the echoes only reverberating for a second. “You can take your cornball gags out back while you’re at it.”

He laughs. The next words he whispers tickle your ear. “I get that a lot, hold the surprise,” and leans in to nuzzle at your neck, taking a deep whiff near his previous mark before exhaling an extra satisfying sounding  _ ahhhhh _ . The dull buzz in your brain is rising to a staticky, fizzing crescendo and you are getting swept up in its fanfare. Either he’s made of pure pheromones, or you’re weak to his game, because the shaky sigh that leaves your lips is far too chaste to be you.

You’re practically vibrating in your jeans to get him to do something now, held down vertically and trying not to whine. It feels like struggling through fog to get out what you want to say, but you manage, out of spite or vindication. He’s back to mouthing at your neck, which can only lead to complacency on your half and not the payback you deserve.

“Then I’m sure you’ve heard this, too,” you pant into his hair, trying your best to keep afloat. “Shut up and suck me.”

You can’t see his face, but you feel his smile against your skin, head moving just the slightest bit so he can graze teeth over the fading bruise. “Any requests?”

Now he’s just being coy. You roll your eyes. “Yea, try going south.”

“Splendid! Bon appetit!”

He’s still holding your hands as he slides down your stomach, but that’s fine. It drags your eyes open so you can watch him drop to the floor, feel his hands release your own so he can glide them over your hips to the button of your jeans. 

He’s a pro at this part at least, but if you have to hear one more corny joke you’ll lose any shred of self respect that you have left, and kiss this rendezvous goodbye.

You don’t do much thinking though when you feel the tip of his tongue flick across the head of your dick. 

It’s astonishing to you how the same mouth that can’t stop eating its own leather can be so good at finding all the parts of you that make your legs turn to jelly, like a metal detector at the beach.

It’s a velvet heat that envelops you, smoothe and soft at first, but so inviting. He sinks his head down, further than you thought he’d go, and you can’t hold in the moan forcing its way up through you. He gives a quick suck on the tip, and the moan breaks off on a hitch as he drags you back out, the shifting of your hips pushing in in  _ micrometers _ for how desperately you want back inside that perfect mouth.

His tongue is divine, silver and sinfully sweet as he lets your dick rest on it between sucks, twisting it around the shaft before flattening it out to run against the underside of the vein there. It’s just on the right side of torture, how he slows down on the backstroke, practically sucking you dry before he dives back in, nose buried into your crotch and lips forming a perfect ring of suction that travels all the way to your tip. 

Your hands find their way into his hair, nails digging into his scalp as you hit the back of his throat again, and  _ god _ does that feel amazing. Tight and wet, but so so soft. The tension in you melts like butter under the dizzy rising heat that is ripping its way through you like a house fire, and it’s  _ too fast.  _ You’re already falling apart, mouth tipping open to gasp on a high note that you try to tamp down. You click it shut, teeth grating together when the next suck has you hissing through them like steam.

Your head slams back against the wall with a crashing thud, but it’s not enough to distract from the way he’s playing you like a fiddle, holding himself there with you buried to the hilt and moaning around your dick. This’ll break the record for quickest time you’ve come from getting head, and you  _ want _ it to be, you’re so close you’re twitching at the slightest shift of his lips.

Distantly, you can hear the slick sounds of him tugging his own dick, and the thought of him getting off to choking on yours is enough to tip you over the edge. You try to back out, give him space to breathe at least but he fights you to keep himself there in your lap. You can feel his throat gulping down everything you’ve got, and even then he doesn't stop, a cut-off moan falling past your lips as you try to get away from the overstimulation. It’s  _ too much,  _ you’re already _ burning _ .

He holds your hips in place against the wall, licking up what’s left of your cum as he finishes himself off, and you wonder if he eats his own cum too with how much he seems to like yours. Maybe that’s a thing you should ask, when you’re not one errant breeze away from collapsing to the floor. 

He’s the only thing holding you up at the moment when he rises back to his feet. He’s still licking his lips but the wolf-like split of them makes another shock zip through you. You’re all jumbled up, aftershocks forking off in you like lightning in summer, so the crash of his lips on your neck is the reverse. An implosion, everything from before rushing to where he’s biting into you and sending shockwaves to your frayed nerves.

You’re almost sobbing at this point, it’s too intense, you’ve gone beyond your limit and it's so exquisite it  _ hurts _ . You’re holding your breath for the breach but it doesn’t come, and you’re left gasping in short bursts, clutching at the fabric of his jacket but not pushing.

All at once you’re released, gasping for air as the sparks die off, sizzling out one by one as the suction ends, and a slightly rough tongue laves at the mark, kissing it sweetly like it’s just a scratch and not the focal point of your exaltations right now. You’re breathing so hard stars dance in your vision from holding your eyes closed so tight, but the soothing touches and quiet murmurings of praise he’s drowning you in are bringing you back down from heaven.

It’s several moments before you can speak clearly, and it’s with a hoarse laugh that you rasp out.

“You still didn’t get my clothes off.”

He grins like a knife, then throws his head back in a laugh that strikes through you like a bell chime. You’re distracted, so the wet kiss he lands on your lips is sloppy but deep, coming off with a dramatic pop.

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement on that. Let’s say, same time next week?”

With a double pistols and a wink, he exits the bathroom before you can even blink at the absurdity of that gesture. It takes another second before your legs cooperate with you, and you tuck yourself back in your pants before cautiously opening the door to see which way he went, but he’s gone. Disappeared, yet again. 

You’re actually kinda miffed. A second go with this guy, and still no number. Oh whatever, it's just another tally in a long list of Dirk’s Fuckups. You gather up your things and head to class, cheeks flushed and clothes more rumpled than necessary for any excuse you can think of (sleeping in your car maybe, that might be believable). 

But, he did say same time next week. That’s a positive sign, right? You’re sure if you asked Roxy, she’d agree. He found you just fine without texting you, so it’s probably safe to assume he knows where you frequent, or knows someone who knows your habits and classes. Which isn’t a large group of people by any means, so not meeting him before must mean he’s either a transfer or a grad student in another track you’ve previously taken. That doesn’t narrow it down much, but it’s a start. 

  
A little bubble of hope stirs in you at the thought. If you play this right, you’ll see him soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to arc and storm for helping me beta this chap!! yall were essential and much needed help, and while im here, HEY EVERYBODY DO U LIKE JAKE ENGLISH?? DO YOU LIKE DATING GAMES???? THEN COME ON DOWN TO THE [JAKE ENGLISH ADVENTURE](https://jakeenglishadventure.tumblr.com/post/167363714486/the-time-has-come-on-this-day-11112017-jake) BLOG AND DOWNLOAD YOUR PLAY OF THE FIRST EPISODE!!! LAUGHS!! MYSTERY!! CHOICE BABES!! AND MORE!! COME SEE FOR YOURSELF THE INTREPID SPIRIT OF OUR FAVORITE MOGUL HEIR AS HE TRIES TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY OF HIS ELUSIVE TENANT!!
> 
> with that plug out, next installment of cambi should come a lot faster, hopefully, but work has been picking up so fingers crossed!! thanks for reading! :>


	3. he's a magic man, mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the rendezvous continue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy that sure was a year wasnt it? *coughs* sorry
> 
> happy end of the worst year ever!! time for porn!

Despite your better instincts, you still hold the tiniest bit of hope in the oubliette that is your heart that you’ll see Jake again soon. It dangles from the edge, fingers gripped on the lip with your boot ready to crush them any second now. You’re just waiting for that shoe to drop, the one you always wait for when it comes to guys like him. 

 

It’s only been a day, but you highly doubt he’ll show up again. You both got some great orgasms out of your impromptu bathroom meetup, nothing more than that. He didn't even ask for your number, and that's always a sign that they're not serious. You know this, so you don’t know why you have any hopes at all. 

 

There are more important things you could be focusing on right now, like how you still have twenty figure drawings to turn in later this week: because even though midterms just passed a week ago, the quest for eternal torment never ends.   


 

So this morning, you got up early and threw on a comfy t-shirt under a nice thick coat and picked up a venti mocha on your way to the drawing rooms. You might as well get a bit of work done at the studio before classes start tomorrow, and your apartment is nice but you know you won’t actually accomplish anything there. It also doesn’t help that your head has been filled with images of a certain tanned adonis who keeps creeping his way into your practice sketches, and you’re too chickenshit to throw away good paper just because you ruined it with sketches of his strong hands from where he gripped your hips life a lifeline. If some of them are pinned to your walls at home, who’s to know but you? 

 

The bruises are more than enough to remind you without actively poking them.   
  


\---------

  
It's nice and warm in the building when you enter. Before you reach the drawing room you are already shrugging off your coat, letting the air hit the bare skin of your arms. Your hands are still cold tho, so you switch your coffee cup back and forth between them til your fingers aren't so numb. It's a bit hard to get the door with all your things in the way though so you lower them none-too-gently to the floor while you dig for the key in your coat pocket.   


 

You're so distracted looking for the key that you don't hear the sound of a door closing down the hall. You don't hear any footsteps either when your hand finally clenches down on the mess of metal in your pocket, but you do hear the quiet "ahem" behind you. You jolt.   


 

Sighing for your lost alone time, you turn around to ask what they want, assuming it's another student or passing faculty wondering why you're here on a Sunday, when a wave of pollen fills your nostrils as a clump of flowers is shoved into your face without warning.   


 

Instantly you are sneezing and coffee sloshes up through the hole in the lid of your cup, dripping onto your hand. The keys drop to the floor with a loud  _ clang _ .   


 

"O-oh! Uh...Oopsie daisies?"   
  
  
_ Oh for  _ fuck's _ sake. _   


 

Jake at least looks vaguely apologetic for a moment as you stare back in clear surprise, getting the last traces of pollen out of your eyes and shaking your sticky hand off. He scratches the back of his head with his free hand, pulling the bouquet to his chest, the paper it’s wrapped in crinkling loudly. Of course he's here, who else would be in an empty building aside from you and the guy who gives amazing head.   


 

“Sorry love,” he gives you a sheepish smile, like he didn't just both ruin and make your day. “I didn’t mean to give you a fight with my flowery friends here.” He gestures with the bouquet again and you give it a good once over while you try to clean off your now sticky hand.   


 

It's a nice bouquet, chrysanthemums, daffodils, some baby's breath and a few fire lilies. You're a little too dumbstruck at how he found you to think about  _ why _ he's carrying a bouquet around, but you do recognize that they're all your favorites. Or at least, the ones you enjoy aesthetically the most. Not that you've told him your favorites at any point in your recent memory.   


 

You shake your head to try and un-jumble your thoughts.   


 

“It’s fine,” you run your hands over your face, using the end of your shirt sleeve to wipe at your eyes. As you do you catch your tattoos in your periphery and freeze, dropping your hand to your hips. The recognition hits you all at once.

 

Holy shit he got a bouquet of your sleeve tat. You...don't really know how to handle that. So you don't.

 

You shrug, trying to gain back some dignity. “Not the first time they’ve tried to murder me.”  


 

“Ha, I hope it wasn’t murder on their mind when you got them, pet.” He stops, then looks stricken. “Oh my word, you’re not  _ allergic _ to them are you?”   


 

You let out a short laugh at that, which is becoming kind of nice to do since the semester started. Props to Jake for at least being a great source of comedy and dopamine.   


 

“No,” you hold back your laughter, “I promise I just like how they look, but the tattoo artist definitely took his time filling them in.”   


 

“Oh good!” and he genuinely looks relieved, even though you just admitted that getting them was painful.   


 

There’s less tension in him now though, but he still looks slightly nervous. You’ve never been given flowers before, but he’s already given you two blowjobs and a handy, so this shouldn’t be so weird. At least, you think so. You’ve never given any of your…  _ partners, _ cuts of fresh flowers before, so your frame of reference is limited to all the times Jane and Roxy got gifts from previous lovers. 

 

Your Bro doesn’t get flowers for his boyfriend, and you don’t think dong lollipops in a dick shaped vase is something you can count as romantic, so he’s not a very good role model for this situation. Which is making your silence all the more awkward for the both of you. You… don’t really know how to react to being treated like someone who needs to be wooed.   


 

He pulls at the collar of his polo as you stare at the bouquet, then clears his throat.   


 

“I decided to take your advice on good faith, and am trying to up my Game, as you so politely put it,” he mutters that last part. “I was hoping you might want to take me up on an offer of a nice evening out some time? Provided you’re not elbows deep in coal and oil.”

 

...Oh.   


 

“Oh.” His smile is all lips and sunshine and it’s doing things to your brain you would have flogged yourself for as a teenager. This is definitely not where you saw your next hookup going, especially because you didn’t think you’d be getting one. Your lips hang open as you try  _ not _ to imagine what a date with the guy who uses your neck like a popsicle would even look like.

 

He laughs softly at the look on your face, then shifts into a leer on a dime.

 

“Not that I don’t think you’d look absolutely divine straddling your wooden pony in the next room.”

 

That pulls you out of the feel good soup you were just swimming in. Your teeth click together with how fast you shut your mouth.   


 

“I’m not fucking you on the drawing horse.”   


 

He throws his head back and laughs, deep and throaty. You flush, embarrassed and wishing you could redo this entire conversation. This isn’t your first dick rodeo, and you’ve definitely got better game than him, but he’s done nothing but knock you off balance since you met him. A quickly forming bad habit that you need to nip in the bud.   


 

His whole stance has changed now, as relaxed as a tiger watching easy prey as he giggles. He looks just like he did that first night you met him, all cocky suredness and smug satisfaction. You pretend you don’t feel chills down your spine, but you’re sure you visibly give off a shake.   


 

His mouth is a line of white and sharp as his laughs quiet down, wiping the mist from his eyes with his free hand.

 

“Oh my, Dirk! That was delightful, but I think we can save those negotiations for another day.”   


 

You don’t know how he can be so quick to shrug off your rejection like that, but you can’t lie to yourself: he’s really hot, even when he’s a conceited prick about it. Something about the line of his jaw when he bares his teeth, maybe. Or the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, like he can’t stop taking you in. Like he knows it’d be easy to get you to bend over the back of your work station if he just pushed a bit harder.   


 

Trying your best to look put upon, you bend to pick up your things. “Well, if those are for me, we should at least put them in water.”   


 

“Oh, right.” He looks back down at the slightly crumpled bouquet in his hand, like he forgot they were there. His gaze flicks back up to you, smile turned to something almost sweet under all that spice, and you feel that jump in your chest again. “Carrying a vase around would be rather cumbersome but something temporary should be fine. If you have a moment, we can take care of these in a jiff!”   


 

He’s almost disgustingly charming to your surprise, when he’s not trying to seduce you with words from a bad noir film. And maybe it's nice to see someone pay so much attention to you.   


 

You don’t think about it too hard. If you keep thinking, you won’t get anywhere today.   


 

“There should be a sink and some empty bottles in the darkroom.”   


 

That sweet smile melts into a decadent poisoned apple grin.   


 

“After you then, crumpet~”   


 

You shrug your bag back onto your shoulder, hefting your coat under the crook of your arm and gesture for him to follow you down the hall and around the corner, temperature creeping up your spine with every step. You’ve got a key to the room, thanks to a TA who was too lazy to take it out of the lock, and you flip the switch on as you enter. The sign over the door flickers on.   
  
  
_ DO NOT ENTER _ __   
__   
_ DARKROOM IN PROCESS _ __   
  
  
\---------   
  


You manage to at least get the flowers in an empty canister with some water before Jake starts trying to devour you, starting with your tongue. It's dark enough in the room that you can't see anything much aside from vague shapes as your eyes adjust to the red light streaming down from the ceiling, but that's fine. Jake is apparently in his element in the dark as he guides you directly to the first available counter space he can back you into.

 

His hands are a little everywhere at the moment, running up your sides to lift your shirt off, drifting over the fine hairs peeking above your pantsline, the cold air in the room intensified by how hot Jake's hands are on your skin. It's like fire and ice, and it feels amazing and just shy of uncomfortable. His lips are smooth as silk over your own, and they taste just the faintest bit like something citrus. Chapstick maybe? You'll ask him later.

 

One of his hands skates over your nipple, giving it a good pinch, and you forget about the flavor on his tongue.

 

You lean back from the sting, breaking your mouths apart to gasp sharply.

 

He takes advantage of your exposed neck to start sucking another hickey into it. Looks like he's going to try and match the ones he made yesterday, tit for tat. If you didn't know any better you'd swear he had a fetish about it or something, but you haven't known him long enough to call him out on it.

 

The way he has you cornered into the space is making it hard for you to keep your feet on the ground. Pushing up against him moves you up onto your toes, or you start to tip backward painfully into the edge of the counter.

 

You're so busy keeping yourself balanced you don't feel Jake's other hand getting your belt open, but you definitely notice when the heat of his hand is suddenly on your dick, stroking it lightly with the tips of his too warm fingers. You're thanking every deity in the written word that you wore briefs, because he slides them down just enough for your hard on to spring free and no more. 

 

That just-trapped feeling is really getting your engines revving, along with the sharp nips he keeps giving to the thin skin under your chin. It won't be long before you come at this rate, which is fine by you right now. He's barely even touching you and it feels like your dick is raging to go off, too much happening at once and yet not enough. You need more friction. You need him  _ closer _ . 

 

You reach your hands down to pull his hips toward to you, but a noise stops you, rumbling against your throat and the blood pumping there.

 

He  _ growls _ at you.

 

"Hands on the table, clementine." 

 

You shudder for a moment, a real and exquisite thrill trickling down your spine like a lightning strike in slow motion. Your hands move slowly away from his belt loops, back to the top of the table, gripping the edges there til your knuckles go white. His teeth shine too brightly in the crimson glow when he smiles at your obedience.

 

"There's a good lad. Now," he resumes stroking your dick with a firm pump of his hand and the sensation is so close to tipping you over, "don't move, or you won't get your treat." 

 

He sing songs that last part, and you swallow. Hard.

 

With your grip set, he starts up a nice and easy pace on your dick, rubbing his thumb over the head and smearing what little precum is there to get things sliding nicely. You tilt your head down to watch his hand work you over, all shifting shadows in the dim light as your eyes are still adjusting. It's a bit disorienting at first. Focusing is hard, and when the end of a nail gently scrapes over the sensitive skin of your head, you can't hold back the loud gasp you let out.

 

He keeps the pace slow though and it's starting to drive you up the wall. What feels like hours pass with his hand never changing speed, a constant teasing pressure. 

 

He'd always been so quick about getting you off before, but this is getting torturous, firm and steady but nowhere near what you want. You're squirming as little as possible to keep yourself in place, your arms are starting to shake from the strain. If he doesn't start jerking you off proper, you'll go mad.

 

Your shoe squeaks across the floor when he tugs at the base of your dick, your leg jerking sharply in surprise and relief.

 

His hand stops. Everything stops.

 

You hold your breath for the seconds it takes for him to move, the only sounds your blood rushing past your ears. The same hand that was just on your aching cock suddenly grips your chin, slightly sticky and you flinch. 

 

He doesn't squeeze so much as hold you tightly, and you do your damnedest not to let your legs give out underneath you. His gaze is still hard to find in the dark, but you can see the glint off his glasses so you direct your eyes there, trying to focus on them and failing.

 

He must be able to tell you're trying though, because he sighs and straightens up from where he was bent over you.

 

“Darling, if you don't hold still, I'm going to be very disappointed.”

 

You won't let that get to you. You  _ won't _ . 

 

“Sorry…”

 

You can't see his expression, but the way his glasses disappear from your vision lets you know he's shaking his head. “It's alright, pet, but I need you to promise me you'll keep yourself in line.”

 

He lets your chin drop out of his grip, patting your cheek with slick fingers that make a wet slap, and you stay stock still. 

 

“It's much more fun for the both of us if you behave.”

 

The pause gives you time to think.

 

Okay, this went a little sideways for you, but this train ride is still chugging along apparently. He has the reigns, and you  _ really _ like where he's leading you so far. Normally you'd put up more of a fight since you didn't really negotiate anything before you started, but you're kind of caught up in the fog he always seems to produce when he gets within spitting distance of your junk. That and you can't seem to find the files in your brain that tell you he's being really pushy for a guy who hasn't even taken you out to dinner.

 

Still, you want what he's giving,  _ unbelievably _ so, so you take a breath, try to bring yourself back to a solid state. 

 

Letting it out slowly, you release the tension in your shoulders, arms relaxing til it filters down to your palms. The counter becomes your focal point, and you lean back into it.

 

You tilt your chin back up, til you can see the outline of his frames, hoping he can see the way your eyelashes flutter. “I promise.”

 

“Ha, cheeky,” but his hands go back to your hips, situating you nicely against the front of his jeans where you can  _ feel _ the shape of his undeniably hard cock, heat searing you through fabric as he rocks his hips into you. The scratch of fabric against your dick is exactly what you wanted.

 

This is that sizzle you were waiting for. Frizz and static and the promise of a storm raising the hairs on your bare skin. His lips are so close to yours and his breath keeps ghosting over your own but you won't move,  _ can't _ move. You keep yourself from having a full body shiver by gripping down harder onto the counter top, the burn almost enough, and you’re almost there, tightening like piano wire when he takes his hips away from you  _ again _ .

 

“Fuck, Jake,  _ please! _ ”

 

“Mm, not yet I reckon.”

 

You hiss through your teeth sucking in your disappointment, the hands on your hips like the world's most cruel vice holding you back from nirvana. 

 

There are unmistakable tears in your eyes, your entire body shuddering as your dick aches and your arousal hinges on the precipice a second time. God, you just want to come already, you'd do anything he wanted if he'd just  _ let you come _ .

 

“Now gingersnap, I really do think you'll be thanking me shortly for stopping you.” He makes a vague gesture with his hands but you can't tell what it was. “I think you'll much prefer what I have in mind for your spunky little friend. In fact-”

 

His hands slip back onto your dick, one at the head, the other finally sliding and pulling over you at breakneck speed. It only takes a few twists before you hit the water full force, gasping for air as you come all over his fingers and palm. He's ruthless, catching and holding all your jizz in his hand while you tremble and hold your posture out of sheer spite as you ride out the waves inside you.

 

“There now, see! That wasn't so bad, was it?”

 

You can't take your eyes off your cum all over his hands. You didn't think there'd  _ be _ that much after the way he wrung you out yesterday, but maybe that's just part of Jake's magic. Him and his magic dick hands. Heh, just like the song.

 

“ _ Hah _ .”

 

He tilts his head at that. “Something funny?”

 

You shake your head. “Not really.”

 

“Hmm...”

 

In the silence while he contemplates and you ride on cloud nine, you think he might have been right. That was definitely worth the buildup, especially with how it feels like your spine is about to turn to semi-permanent jelly at the rate he keeps giving you these orgasms.

 

Which is how you don't notice that your back has fully relaxed, leaning further over the counter than you were when he gave his orders.

 

“Aw, tut tut darling. You were doing so well, too.” 

 

You snap back to reality. You were almost too sated to be anxious, but you always find a way. Your brain is a real dick like that.

 

“A-ah, sorry. I didn't-”

 

“Shush now.”

 

Your mouth closes with a click. So much for being good. You don't want to move again, but you can't help yourself from curling in a bit.

 

“Oh dear. Dirk, I'm not mad,” he says softly. You can't look him in the eyes. “You did very well, you sweet little danish. Right up until the end.” and the way he sounds put out by your lack of control hurts.

 

It hurts way more than it should.

 

You’re not used to feeling so… inadequate. Sure you don't like yourself all that much, but you've never felt like you were so clearly a letdown. You always do this.

 

“Pumpkin, look at me.”

 

You keep your chin set.

 

“Dirk.”

 

No.

 

“ _ Dirk Strider _ , I said look at me.”

 

You flinch, but turn your head to look at him.

 

What you see is a flash of green in the light of his eyes for a split second, and then it's gone. His eyebrows are pinched together, and instead of the angry look you're expecting, he just looks sad.

 

“Come now, it's alright,” he soothes at you. “You have nothing to worry about, dulcet.”

 

You'd be more inclined to believe him if you weren't coming down from what was almost an anxiety attack post-coitus, which is not the friendliest combo of emotions. You nod to show you're okay now, even though you're really not, releasing a shaky breath. You can hide it a bit longer, anyway. 

 

His cautious smile is visible to you, and that makes you feel... a bit better actually.

 

He seems satisfied that you're not going to cry at least, but the guilt is still there, a smokey undercurrent to the arousal you were just soaking up like a greedy sponge.

 

Of course, that's when he ruins it, and claps his hands together, the sound making you jump.

 

“Well! If you won't be able to keep yourself up on your own, I suppose I'll have to recruit some help!”

 

You don't know what he means by that until the one hand not completely covered in your spunk starts pulling your jeans down until they get about mid thigh. There's a bit of shuffling before you hear the clinking of your belt buckle as he slips it through the opening and pulls, but your legs are still spread for balance.

 

He pats your thigh lightly. “Give us a hand, love?” 

 

It takes a second for it to click. You quickly shut your legs, the slap of skin echoing in the room and making him laugh. 

 

He wastes no time tightening the belt further, until relaxing your legs gets you nowhere. You can really see his smile now as he looks down at your constricted legs, the bright white of his teeth glowing crimson. He runs the hand that  _ is _ covered in your jizz along the seam of your firmly shut thighs, and the warm slickness of it sends sparks back into your spine. You sigh with all the tension leaking out of you, even as you start to rub your thighs together to get some friction back on your neglected dick. 

 

“You are positively perfect, pumpkin. Look at you, so good for me when I ask.” 

 

It's like the switch is flipped again. It's amazing how much his praise affects you. You've never really had a lot of chances to explore that particular kink and he's hitting it out of the ballpark first go around. 

 

“Just stunning, that's what you are. Look at you go, right back to work like a champ.” His hand is slipping all the way between your thighs now, pressing in and smearing your cum all over them. The slickness is doing incredibly nice things for your brain, even though it feels weird at first. He keeps his hand there, unmoving while you try to frot against him, and you know you look ridiculous with your pants barely half down and no shirt on but his gaze is so piercing in the dim that you're back to full hardness in no time.

 

It's a bitch to get any traction with how slippery you are, and you know he knows that. 

 

You could just... reach down and jerk yourself off. But after everything else this morning, you want his dick more than anything. You've earned it.

 

“Jake,” you gasp when he slips his hand up higher, grazing against your balls still tucked up in your underwear. “Fuck, Jake,  _ fuck me _ .”

 

“What's that, love?”

 

The hand slides back down, away from your dick and with it your patience. You curse, trying to trap his hand but getting nothing as he easily pulls away from the mess you're making.

 

“Nnh, come on!”

 

“I don't know what you could mean, poppet, come where?”

 

That  _ asshole _ . You glare up at him, panting from the exertion of trying to get his hand back with no success. You're hard enough again that you know it won't take much to push you over if he'd just cooperate.

 

“On my thighs,  _ please _ .”

 

“I thought you'd never ask.”

 

He must've got his dick out of his jeans while you were distracted, because it's there between your thighs in a second. Like it couldn't wait to say hello.

 

It's so hot against your sticky skin, a rod of solid iron straight from the forge, and he wastes no time getting you where he wants you to be, pulling at your hips where his fingers left their marks the day before. The extra zing of pain and pleasure you get from that is doing wonders for winding you all the way up.

 

His dick burns between your thighs, and the way he's fucking into them, so close to your dick and yet not close enough, is making that pooling heat in your gut feel more like molten lava. You're burning up, flesh on fire and he’s the kerosene. You're so far from caring how you sound that you don't stop yourself from crying out whenever his dick slides against the bottom of your shaft, or back along your covered taint, his own mutterings drowned out by how loud you are. 

 

You're a mess of sweat and cum when he gives a noticeably harder thrust, rutting up into your thighs and along your dick so nicely you moan long and low, throwing your head back. That seems to do the trick for him as you feel his own cum spread thick and hot down your thighs in heavy spurts, not even listening to the ridiculous way he praises your legs and lips and all the in-betweens. He's still fucking into you though, and the way  _ that _ sounds is obscene.

 

You can't help yourself from looking at the destruction of what he's wrought with your body.

 

It's the dirty slide of him as you peer down to see your leaking dick bobbing against your stomach, a trail of cum making a snails path across your skin in the reflecting light while he fucks into you slowly that sends you flying into oblivion. You shut your eyes so tight, you see white and black pinpricks behind your eyelids before you sort of… fade away for a bit. 

  
  
  


Jake is wiping you down gently with a tissue when you feel vaguely like a person again, but he stops when the shaking in your thighs is so strong that it's clear he's going to need both hands to hold you up now. He tucks your aching dick back into your briefs, leaving your pants still strapped around your knees, loosely compared to how tight it was before. Your legs are about as close to jello as a human being can get without turning yourself into a macabre facsimile of slime, the belt around your thighs the only thing keeping you standing. 

 

This is easily topping the blowjob he gave you yesterday by  _ light years _ .

  
Your chest is still heaving when you finally open your eyes again, the ache in your hands from gripping the edge of the table for so long starting to spread and send tingles of static to your fingertips. What you wouldn't  _ give _ for the hard wood to have been silky sheets.

 

You don't think when you blurt out, “Do you have something against beds?”

 

“What?”

 

His confusion is cute.

 

“It’s just,” and you can’t stop yourself from running a frazzled hand through your already fucked hair. “This is the third time this has happened, and I’m starting to wonder if horizontal spaces just aren’t your scene.”

 

You still can't quite read his face in the red light, but he's quiet for a second. You wait, listening to your heart beating in your ears. His answer is quiet in the empty room.

 

“You’ve never invited me to one, if I recall.”

 

That zips through you like a bullet.

 

You don't have a response to that that doesn't sound desperate. “Isn’t a date after third base kind of backwards?”, is what comes out instead.

 

He snorts. 

 

That must have released the floodgates, because he starts chuckling and then outright gut laughing. It sends you into a fit of awkward giggling watching him, and then his lips are there, half kissing and half chuckling into your mouth while he holds your face.

 

You laugh breathlessly along with him, an easy content seeping into your bones as you wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep yourself upright and let the blood flow back into your limbs.

 

His other hand travels to the back of your neck, gently rubbing the sweaty skin and hair at your nape. It’s comforting, in the weirdest multiple-day-stand, possible-date kind of way. The weight is heavy and nice. So is the heat from his palm, especially where it almost brushes against the bruise where his teeth dug in yesterday. It’s enough to bring you back into the moment as your laughter dies down. 

 

He smiles, softly this time.

 

“Pumpkin, it’s only backwards if you want it to be.”

 

You smile back. 

 

“One backwards date it is then.”

 

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise!! there were also feelings this time!!
> 
> i wanna thank all of u for sticking thru the wait for this, even tho there's still _so much_ more to come. here's hoping 2019 is better to all of us...

**Author's Note:**

> and so, dirk met jake


End file.
